


Private Time, Rediscovered

by epersonae



Series: Aftermath [19]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Chug n squeeze, F/M, Fix-It, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, TFW you fix-it your own fic, rediscovering love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epersonae/pseuds/epersonae
Summary: Lunch leads to a date leads to more. Lucretia tries to relax. Magnus is sincere. A familiar place is rediscovered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been haunted by what I did in [Private Time, Interrupted](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11374905) literally since I wrote it. Then this week I got an ask on tumblr asking me to write more about how Lucretia finds happiness. I realized I needed to start here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @hops for being a great cheerleader and specifically for helping me figure out the beginning. It's only fitting that the gal at the Chug n Squeeze gets her name.

Lucretia looked up from yet another stack of papers: job applications, mostly, more people looking to join the reformed Bureau of Benevolence. It was a strange feeling, being in charge of an organization no longer secret, but instead popular, beloved even. She was busy, busy enough to have an assistant - a fantastically efficient assistant - screening her visitors.

She heard a familiar timbre contrasting with her assistant’s voice; she stood and put her ear to the door. 

“Hail and well met, Alex! Is the director ready, or does she still have too much work to do?”

Alex laughed. 

“She should be ready to go, Mr. Burnsides.”

“Remember, it's Magnus. The Hammer if you're feeling formal.”

Lucretia stepped out into the other room. 

“You're not still trying to make that happen, are you?” she said. 

“Maybe.” He was casually leaning against her assistant’s desk, holding an enormous wicker basket, with a wool blanket tucked under his arm.

“Now, you two take as long as you want,” said Alex. “There's nothing here that can't wait.” She turned to Magnus and added, “You need to make sure she takes enough time for lunch. She gets irritable if she doesn't get enough of a break.”

“Coooool. Sounds like a plan.”

They walked out onto the main quad of the moon base, under the tree that had once been the secret lever to the Starblaster, and he dramatically unfurled the blanket. He held out his hand and she carefully lowered herself to sit on the ground.

He followed, and took out cheese and summer sausage, a loaf of good bread, apples, and a bottle of cider. 

She laughed. 

“Magnus, I have to go back to work after lunch.”

“Uh-huh. Cool. It's just two percent, hardly even enough to get buzzed.”

“Magnus.” And she was shaking her head, but also laughing, and he was pouring her a little cup of it anyway. They drank and ate and talked about nothing, really. Mostly he regaled her with stories about dogs he was training, how next time he'd bring Johann, and show her how well behaved he could be. 

“He won't run anywhere near the edge, I promise,” Magnus said. 

When they finished, there was still time to go for a stroll, and so the two of them walked past the little cluster of shops near the Fantasy Costco. Especially since he hadn't been that way since, well, everything, and he was curious. 

“Oh, they rebuilt the Chug N Squeeze,” he said, pointing to a little building across from where they were walking. “Do you still have special after hours Director privileges?”

She flinched, despite the total lack of malice in his tone. He put a hand on her shoulder; she twitched it off. 

“Hey.” 

She stopped walking, pinched the bridge of her nose, and let out a very very long sigh. He stopped beside her.

“Lucretia?”

Another deep breath, another long sigh. 

“I didn't…. I couldn't…. I haven't stepped foot in there since….”

She looked sidelong at him, not quite able to meet his gaze. 

“Oh Lucretia. I'm so sorry.”

Her face scrunched up in confusion.

“Why are  _ you  _ sorry? You didn't…. It was my….”

“I just feel bad that you didn't get to do your hobby because of me. Must've made everything even more stressful.”

She gave a soft rueful laugh. 

“I can't believe you're serious. That was such a stupid shitty careless thing that I did to you, and you're just sad I didn't get to keep making pottery?”

“Well, I mean, okay, that's not how I felt about it at the time.”

Another little laugh, because she can’t find any words. 

“But when we, you know, when Barry gave me the ichor, and we got our memories back…and later, when I had time to think about it….” This time, he looked away from her. “Then I knew what you were saying, that night, that you couldn't help telling me….” He was blinking rapidly; she could tell he was on the verge of tears. She put a hand on his arm. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. “You told me that you loved me, Lucretia.” His crooked smile. “I couldn't stay mad.” She smiled back.

He pulled her into a side-hug and squeezed tight. 

“Wanna go see what classes they've got?”

She made a noncommittal noise, but he was already walking her over that way. 

In the window, the Open light was off; below that, a sign listed all the different themes for the days of the week:

Cab and Vase

Chard and Bowl

Rosé and Cup

Pinot and Plate (with optional plate painting!)

Free-Form Friday

Open Shop

“Ah, it's closed,” she said, feeling a touch of relief. “We should go-”

But then the door popped open, and a half-elf woman with lively eyes and a big smile was looking back at them. 

“Oh! Madame Director! We haven't seen you since, I guess before the last day?” Lucretia gave a tentative smile as the other woman held out her hand. “I’m Kath, I’ve worked here since way back when, you probably don’t remember me? It’s a real honor, though.” She gingerly shook hands. “You know, we still have your last batch around here somewhere. We figured you just got busy, you know, what with all the everything. Figured you'd come back when you had some downtime or whatever.” Kath started walking into the shop, still talking. “They're really beautiful, I mean honestly, we've talked about putting some on display, you know, ‘Chug n Squeeze, endorsed by the Director of the Bureau’ but that seemed a little, uh, presumptuous?” Lucretia and Magnus followed her, exchanging a look. “I hope you don't mind, I do have one up by the checkout counter, put flowers in it. Looks real classy.” She walked past the rows of wheels and chairs, flung up a section of the countertop, and headed into the back room. When Lucretia and Magnus paused, she glanced back at them. “C’mon, should be back here. Say, your old key should still work, if our regular hours don't work for you. It's no big deal if you want to use the shop when it's closed.”

Lucretia raised an eyebrow. Magnus smirked and wiggled his eyebrows when Kath wasn't looking. Lucretia bit her lip to stop from giggling. 

“Stop. It.” she hissed.

“Eh? Eh?”

She threw him the sharpest stare she could manage. His smile softened, but she could still see a twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

“Found ‘em!” She poked her head out of a closet, then emerged carrying a tray of vases. “Uh, some of them hadn't been glazed? But they needed to be fired, so….” Most were the austere colors she had favored when she was doing pottery during the BoB days, but one was a brilliant red. Lucretia picked it up and turned it over in her hands. “I hope it's okay, ma’am, I did that one, we had a great batch of that color, and I just thought….”

Magnus took the vase out of Lucretia’s hands. 

“It's perfect.” He looked at her. “Do you mind if I take this one?”

Her eyebrows knit together and she sighed. 

“All yours.” She wanted to say an endearment, to call him  _ dear _ or  _ babe _ or  _ darling _ , but everything still felt far too tentative for that.

“Thanks, hon,” he said. She blinked. He turned to Kath. “Does she...do we need to pay for these?”

“Oh, it was all on the old BoB account, should be taken care of. Besides, for Madame Director?” She shrugged and smiled. “Who am I to say if you end up with a little extra pottery, Mister Burnsides?” She winked, and Lucretia closed her eyes in sheer mortification. “Do you want me to box up the rest of these and send them over to your office, ma’am?”

Lucretia tried to pull herself back to the moment.

“Uh, um, I don’t know...I guess? Actually, if you want to keep a couple for display that would be fine and then yeah, address the rest to my assistant, Alex? Over in the main dome?”

“Sure, of course. Good to see you back again, ma’am, and you two have a real nice day.”

They left together, Magnus smiling down at the vase as they walked back towards her office.

“These are really nice, Lucretia. You know that, right?”

She shrugged.

“No, even if they weren’t yours. I like it a lot. Have to put it up on the mantel at Raven’s Roost. Put some flowers in it for next time you visit?” He tucked it into the wicker basket and took her arm.

“Next time?”

“Sure, yeah, of course. Maybe stay a few days? You can take a vacation, right?”

“Mmmm.”

“Luce.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Now that it’s not all up here?” He tapped her forehead with a fingertip. “You’ll come visit?”

She nodded.

“And hey, you wanna go to — ?” He gestured back behind them towards the Chug ‘n Squeeze. “No pressure. Not like” — he smirked — “ _ after hours _ or anything. But y’know. Pinot and Plate night? I know you like a good red wine.”

“Indeed.”


	2. Pinot and Plate (with optional plate painting!)

Lucretia very carefully slid the wire along the surface of the wheel to cut free her plate, nodding to herself in satisfaction. She was a little out of practice, and plates were particularly tricky to get right, but this one was entirely suitable, perhaps for a gift, or something to decorate her office.

“Wow, Luce, that’s fantastic!” He leaned over and touched her shoulder, holding out a glass of dark red wine, the “Pinot” of “Pinot and Plate”.

“It’s alright.” She took the glass of wine and sipped at it, regarding her creation. Already she could see the spot where she’d pressed a little too hard and made a groove all the way around. Too late now, anyway.

“No, babe, it’s really great. I mean, I should just bring you more wine and you do all the pottery.” She laughed as he pointed at his wheel, where the disc of clay had slumped over into a sort of low dome, maybe an inverse plate? “Now if they ever open a carving studio, then you can bring me the wine while I make stuff.”

“Point taken. But I think you just need practice, it’s not  _ that _ far off…..” He laughed loud enough that some of the other folks in the studio looked up and over at them.

“Are you going to go all Fantasy Patrick Swayze and try to teach me?”

“Well, I’m not the one with the icy hands of death,” she said.

“Ah, I heard he’s not too great at pottery either.” His chuckle was a bit rueful. “Funny you and T— you know, funny that you guys are both pretty good at this.”

“That would certainly be an  _ interesting _ double-artist show.”

Magnus grimaced a little.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s a word.”

She raised an eyebrow and smiled, taking another sip of the wine. Despite her reputation, she honestly was pretty clueless about wine, but this was smooth and easy drinking. She might have to pace herself.

“So you want to try it again?” she asked. “I believe you could get a piece that would at least hold something.”

“Eh, I guess? I was thinking about trying painting? They have blanks, you could drink your wine while your plate gets speed-fired? I mean, would that be okay with you?” He was fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

“That would be great, Magnus.” She reached out to touch his arm, realized her fingers were still grey with damp clay, pulled back again. He took her hand, clay streaks and all, and squeezed tight.

“Thanks for…. Goin’ out?”

She chuckled. “Is that what this is?”

He shrugged. She put the plate onto a tray and handed it to Kath, who gave her a quick nod and a smile. Then she washed her hands and they headed together to the painting station. She decided to wait until her own plate was ready. It was so rare that she took a moment to just sit and do absolutely nothing. He took a blank — machine-pressed by the looks of it, but she tried not to judge — and grabbed almost every color on the shelf, spreading tubes of glaze paint out like a disorganized rainbow. 

“Do you want a pencil?” she asked. If it were her, she’d be drawing her idea out first: less clean-up that way. He shook his head, sticking his tongue out, frowning down at the plate, squeezing out paint onto a palette: brown, green, orange, cream, yellow, black. She sipped her wine. He dipped a brush into the black and started spreading the paint across the plate. Then he stopped.

“Aw, dip, I need to do the yellow next.”

“I’ll get you a cup of water.”

She walked over to the communal sink.

“Hey boss.” It was Carey, also filling a cup of water. “Haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

Carey’s glance shifted back to the room, to Magnus.

“So, how’s that…?”

Lucretia nodded.

“Ok. Totally, sure. I getcha.” Carey winked. “Say no more, boss lady. Nowhere better on the moon for some chill-ass one-on-one time.”

Lucretia smiled and went back to Magnus, who was already painting with a second brush, the first one resting in the black paint. He gave her a lopsided grin.

“I totally missed it; there’s a whole jar of brushes!”

She ran her hand through his hair; he leaned towards her, sighing.

“Best of both worlds now, I guess,” she said and set down the water, then went back to standing just behind him, her arm around his shoulder.

There was a rough outline on the plate; she could almost make out a shape: black edges, a splash of yellow, a blob of cream.

“What is, Mags?”

He twisted around and smiled up at her.

“It’s a duck!”

If she hadn’t been holding him, she might’ve stumbled. Her breath caught in her throat; her heart lurched sideways in her chest. She swallowed hard, and her hands started to tremble. Suddenly her vision narrowed to almost nothing.

She heard him as if from a distance: “Hey, Luce, Lucy, honey, Lucretia? What’s happening? Talk to me, babe.”

She didn’t remember him standing, but he had his arms around her, and she was crying? Oh gods, in the Chug ‘n Squeeze, in public, too many people, too many people here. He started stroking her back in long strokes. “Breathe, take a deep breath for me, Lucretia. Come on, you got this. Just tell me, what did I do?”

She blinked at him.

“I have to go. Magnus, I need to get out of here.”

He shook his head slowly.

“No, you’re fine. Look, no one’s even paying attention. Just take a deep breath and tell me.”

“I…. Magnus…. I love you, and I don’t…. I didn’t….”

“I know.”

“That duck, you know?”

He hugged her again, even tighter.

“I kept it,” she whispered. “It’s still…. In my desk drawer?”

“Why don’t you take it out and show it?” he said into her ear, his voice low and steady. “I made it with love. I think it was pretty good, I dunno.” He held her a little bit away, smiling gently at her tear-streaked face. “What, you don’t  _ like _ my ducks?”

She laughed unevenly.

“No, of course I do.”

She dipped her head and tried to blink away the remaining tears, then turned to look at the rough sketch on the plate.

“Is that really a duck, though?”

“It’s  _ going _ to be. You can’t judge it yet.”

He wiped the tears from her face, then handed her a handkerchief from his back pocket.

“Do you want me to get you some water, more wine…”

“Just...stay?” She sat back in her chair and looked up at him. “Finish your painting, before the paint dries.”

“Really?”

“Yes, please.”

He gave her another concerned look before returning to his seat. He went back to painting. She drank some more wine. 

“Refill, boss?” Killian stood behind Lucretia and Magnus, holding a bottle of the Pinot Noir. 

“Sure, thanks. Magnus, you want some more?”

He looked up, his brows drawn together in concentration. 

“Uhhhhh, yeah, I guess. Hey Kil.”

Killian nodded, a bit curtly. 

“What're you painting?”

“Duck.” He was still entirely focused on the plate. 

A genuine smile crossed Killian’s face.

“Right on, me too! This is totally better than mine.”

Magnus beamed. 

“Wow, thanks!”

Having seen Killian’s attempts at drawing when sending back reports as a Regulator, Lucretia said nothing.

Killian leaned over until her head was close to Lucretia’s. 

“Everything cool? He's not being rude, is he? We can kick him out if you want.”

She shook her head very slightly. 

“It's not him, it's me.”

“You sure?”

“Thank you for your concern, Killian, but I'm fine.”

Killian made a noise, obviously unconvinced, but willing to let it go. She stared hard at Magnus, who didn't seem to notice. 

“You let me know, ma’am. Any time,” she said, before going back to Carey. 

Without looking up, Magnus said, “She's very protective of you.”

“Hmmm.”

“All of them are, you know. They care about you. Even when they didn't really know, they knew how good you are.”

“Magnus.” She was blinking back tears again. 

“I'm serious, Luce. I'm glad you had folks taking care of you. While we were…you know.”

She sighed. He put down his brush and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. 

“I'm not very good at this,” she said. 

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean, look at me, Magnus.”

“I am.”

She opened her mouth, about to protest again; he leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed back. Ever so slowly he pulled away.

“I love you, Lucretia,” he said. 

She closed her eyes, but she was smiling. 

In a barely audible whisper, she replied, “I love you too.”

His voice low and tender, he said, “And you're going to hang this very excellent duck your office, right?”

She looked at the painted plate. It mostly looked like a mallard. If you squinted a bit. 

“I'd be delighted.”


	3. After hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY THIS IS THE SMUT CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @hops for, well, everything, but in particular a bit of imagery shared in the discord that I ended up not using but that got me going when I was in a low spot.

A late day at work means getting out late, means she is still throwing her first bowl, still not even halfway into a glass of wine, when the lights dim at the Chug n Squeeze. Closing time. But they just clean up and close up around her, leave a single lamp on above the wheel where she is intently shaping a bowl. She'd considered making a lidded dish, but it's a fiddly thing, and considering that she's making something to hold hard candies, why put anything between him and them?

“We're all closed up, I'll lock it up for you, have a good night.”

She doesn't look up, just nods absent-mindedly. She doesn't have the weight of a universe on her shoulders anymore, but it's still nice to lose herself in this after a long day. She wets her hands again, smooths the clay, hums an old tune. It feels like a space outside of time. 

She almost doesn't hear it, she's that deep in her head. A door sliding open. The scrape of a chair against the floor. Soft footfalls in the dark. 

Then the whispering voice: “Gorgeous.”

She smiles, not looking up. 

“You're actually using your rogue skills,” she says. “I'm pretty sure that door was locked.”

“Was it, then?” he says with a smile. He moves between the chairs and wheels, pulls up a chair behind her. She can sense him close and lets go of the bowl, lets the wheel slow. 

“Careful,” she says. “You don't want to be filling a lopsided dish with candy.”

“Oh, I don't mind,” he says, leaning forward to kiss the back of her neck, running a hand up the back of her head. She draws in a sharp breath. 

“Magnus.”

“Yup.”

He rests his head on her shoulder, looking at the nearly finished bowl. 

“That's for me?” he asks, his voice soft. 

“Mm-hmm.” She nuzzles her cheek against his. “If you want it.”

“Of course. Is it done?”

“Almost.”

He slips his hands under her shirt; she leans back against him. 

“Are you sure? It looks awfully done to me.”

“Just needs a little more.” Her voice is a little ragged as his hands move over her ribs, coming to rest just below her breasts. 

“Ok, alright, if you say so.” And he pulls back, lets her go, and she gasps at the coolness after he's no longer touching her. She takes a deep breath, dips her hands in the water, speeds up the wheel again, continues to smooth and pull the clay to the shape she'd been visualizing. She can feel his eyes on her, sitting behind her, she can feel his breathing, calm and steady. The bowl is nearly done; she gets the edge perfectly smooth, a gentle curve tipped outward, a little flourish, something different from the austere work she did when she was so alone and isolated. 

She brings the wheel to a stop and nods in quiet satisfaction. 

“That'll do,” she says. 

“Yup, gorgeous,” and he kisses the back of her neck again. She sighs. 

“What are you even doing here?” she asks. 

“Kissing you,” he murmurs into her neck. 

“No, I mean  _ on the moon _ ,” she says, twisting around to look at him. 

“Funny, I had an actual meeting with, uh, Brad. About maybe a partnership, between the Hammer and Tails and the Bureau. A lot of good opportunities for service animals in the places your folks are working.”

He talks about his work, about how it intersects with her work. It was a  _ great  _ meeting, he says over and over. She smiles. She can't imagine him having the patience to sit through a meeting, let alone with Brad Bradson. Strange where this second chance (third chance? hundredth chance?) takes them. 

“And you just happened to walk this way after…?”

“I asked your assistant? Sounds like you're coming over here regular now. So I thought….” He blushes, runs his hands through his hair. “More wine?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Magnus Burnsides?”

He blushes even deeper. 

“Um, no?”

She chuckles. 

“I would love another glass of wine.”

He takes her glass, walks over to the counter. She eases the bowl off of the wheel and onto a board as he's walking back. He silently hands her a full glass; he’s poured himself one, both glasses are very full. They clink the glasses together, no need for any particular toast, sharing this moment is enough. The wine is very cold and dry; she sips, watching him over the rim of the glass. He's looking around the shop, his eyes occasionally flickering to her face. Nervous, again. 

“Magnus?”

He startles a bit. 

“I'm glad you're here.”

He smiles, lets out a long breath. He scoots his stool closer, holds out his hands. 

“Foot rub?”

She puts her feet in his lap, and he slips off her shoes. He’s barely touching her feet, just resting one thumb in each arch, but she sighs. Then he actually rubs her feet, almost too hard, but not quite, and she moans. 

“That work for you?”

She just sighs in response and drinks another long sip of wine. 

He smooths her socks up her ankles, grips her calves, rubs up her legs, his hands sliding up under her pant legs. He's watching her intently, and it's almost too much: the simple sensation of his hands on her, his gaze on her. If she thinks about it at all, she doesn't feel worthy, doesn't feel ready, but she doesn't want the moment to end. She closes her eyes.

He pops her toes and she gasps. It's not sexual at all but at the same time deeply sensual. 

“Oh Mags.”

“When's the last time you had a good foot rub?”

She shakes her head. 

“Then just enjoy it.”

“I should put the bowl in the back room.”

“Ok then.” He sets her legs down, and she regrets saying anything. “Let's put it away and then more foot rubs.”

Tongue-tied, she nods, stands, carries the board with the bowl. He lifts the counter so she can walk through, opens the drying room door. She sets the board on the shelf. When she turns, he's close, she has to tip up her head to look at him. He's looking at her with that expression of fondness warring with naked lust, and that same mix of feelings surges in her heart, mingled with a dozen years of worry and sadness and guilt, but threaded through that love, always love, always looking forward to that smile. She stands on her tiptoes, throws her arms around his neck. He kisses her, she kisses him, they kiss like it's been a hundred years, like it's the first time anyone's ever kissed. 

They crash against the door as he pushes her back. Pottery rattles in the shelves. 

“Careful,” she says. He laughs, what starts as a chuckle but is too hungry for that. He lifts her up against the wall, she clings to him with arms around his neck, legs around his waist. She grinds against him just the way she remembers, and he groans the way she remembers, but it's different, not better, not worse, just different. And gods, so good, she's moaning into his mouth. 

“Why did it have to be pants today?” he says with an anguished groan. She laughs. He carries her out of the back closet, fumbling with the door, as she kisses the side of his neck, kisses down into his collarbone, tries to push his shirt open without using her hands. 

Then he sets her on the countertop. He steps back, panting. They're both panting. He bites his lip; she can see a little pulse in his jaw. She can see his cock tenting his pants. She smiles. “Ah I wish I'd known,” he says. “I wish I'd known what I could do to you.” He licks his lips. And then in a single fierce motion he steps to her and lifts her again, she unbuttons her pants and he pulls them off. They land somewhere on a workbench, or maybe on top of a wine case? 

“I'll need those later,” she says. 

“Oh yeah, absolutely. I know. Of course.” He tugs at her panties, shimmies them off, and similarly they go flying  _ somewhere _ . 

She laughs, but the laugh turns abruptly into a gasp when he kneels in front of the counter, kneels in front of her and without prelude or even saying a word, puts his mouth on her and lavishes kisses on the insides of her thighs, on her lips, on her clit. She grips the counter and throws back her head. He starts sucking, his mouth firmly on her, and she tips her hips to him. 

“Oh that's…. That's…. Magnus….” Her voice cracks on his name. He pulls back for a second, dips back in and licks fervently. Her legs are draped over his arms and his hands grip tight onto her hips, pulling her to him as she's bucking up into his mouth. 

“Oh god, so good, more, please, Magnus, it's” She fucks his face, forgetting where they are, when they are. She groans and whines, and then she leans back on the counter top on her elbows. 

“You know you're really good at that,” she says breathlessly. He grins, although there's a feral edge to his smile. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

She starts to hop off of the counter, but he strides forward again, pulling off his own clothes as he goes, putting a hand on her chest. 

“We're not done here yet,” he growls, although still smiling. “I left you unsatisfied the last time….” He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen again.”

She chuckles shakily. 

“ _ You  _ left  _ me _ unsatisfied?”

His smile just broadens and he pushes her legs apart, rests one hand on her pubic mound, the other holding the small of her back. 

She feels a little frisson of anxiety: this is exactly how it was the last time, with her sitting on the counter, his hands on her, in her, and he’d brought her to climax entirely on instinct and muscle memory. She’d ruined it, then, and the echoes of that ruination still haunted her, as much as they’d rediscovered their love, as much as he’d forgiven her. Her thighs tense in nervous anticipation, and he strokes the tops of them gently, tenderly.

“It’s alright, Lucy, I promise.”

Her brows knit together and she looked into his eyes, searching again for any hint of hesitation. But he just laughs.

“Oh, Luce, you’re fine.” He steps closer, pushing her legs wide, and kisses her nose. “You’re better than fine. Don’t worry so much about the past.” Then he runs his fingers through her pubic hair, lightly, gently, with one hand, while tipping her chin up towards his face with the other hand. He kisses her as he strokes firmly downward at the same time, and she gasps into his mouth. She moans his name, but his kisses swallow the sound.

“More?” he asks, and she laughs, delighted and embarrassed at the same time. She reaches for him, trying to both pull him closer and undo his pants at the same time; it comes across as a sort of mad fumbling, and she laughs again, this time at her own foolishness.

“More, please,” she says. The fingers on her clit slide downward, slide in, and she moans deep in her throat, pushing her hips forward on the counter. One hand grabs for his back, the other pushes his pants down, grabs for his cock when it springs free. He pauses for a moment in stroking her to close his eyes and groan wordlessly. She smiles, strokes again, pushes forward again, trying to get purchase on the countertop to slip onto him.

“Oh really?” he says. “You think that’s how we’re going to go now? You think I’m that easy?”

She lets out a long low laugh and stroked again. His hips tip up towards her.

“I have a hundred years of experience that says so,” she says. She leans towards him. “That one time, in the kitchen, when we thought everyone was out hunting the Light…?”

He laughs. “That counter was exactly the right height.” Then he pulls her forward, nearly off the counter, as he slides inside. “This one’s pretty good, though.” She gasps as he spreads her wide, goes in deep, fills her entirely. One hand on the small of her back again, the other still stroking her clit steadily in time with his slow strokes.

They stay like that for a while, rocking against each other on the counter, holding tight, caught in a wordless embrace, moaning softly against each other. Despite the public place, despite everything, being with him is like being home, and he’s quiet, steady, almost slow in his movements against her. He kisses her, and she opens her mouth to him. She probes his mouth with her tongue, and now he speeds up again, thrusts harder, faster, pulling her tighter as he rubs her clit between two fingers. He begins to moan her name, his hand stops moving, he clutches her, and then he pushes her back, pulls out, and stares at her, gasping for air.

“Lucretia, I can't, not yet. I still, I mean you need to….”

She jumps down off of the counter. Her legs feel wobbly and unstable, but she pulls herself together and walks to him. 

She pokes a finger in his chest. 

“I did. I have. It was fantastic. And yes, I could absolutely go again.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him: slowly, savoring his mouth. “But I. Want. You” she peppers her words with kisses “to get some. And to fuck me. Like we didn't get to then.” She raked his sideburns with her fingernails. “Do you understand?”

He grins. 

“Yes, Madame Director.”

He picks her up again, lifting her easily and they kiss madly, wildly, as they did so many times before. They careen through the shop, almost but not quite fucking. He sets her down to look at her, practically starry-eyed, and she stares back, heart bursting with fondness. Finally he sits, on the bench next to her wheel, under the single spotlight. 

She sits beside him, laughing a bit as she casually strokes him. 

“We are naked in the Chug n Squeeze,” she says. 

“Yup.”

“You know I have an apartment here on the moon base, right?”

“Sure, yeah, but you're here now.”

“But we could finish this there, in a comfortable bed.”

“I'm up for that, yeah, totally. But one more go before we take off?” He pulls her close, slips a finger into her slippery folds, and crooks it just so. Her grip on him tightens, and she strokes. 

“You as well, my dear,” she says through gritted teeth. He chuckles and then moans as she speeds her pace. He slides in a second finger, rolls her clit under his thumb. She grabs the bench with her free hand, gives him a long stroke and runs her thumb over the slick head. He whines; his head falls forward, and his eyes fall closed. He murmurs her name. She tightens her grip. He thrusts his fingers. And she begins to pulse around them, crying out wordlessly, just as he jerks frantically in her hand, spilling over her fingers. Their eyes meet. 

As they both pull their hands away, she sleepily mumbles a cantrip and the whole sticky mess is clean. She leans against his chest. 

“Magic is amazing,” he says in a whisper. 

“Mmmmm, yeah,” she says. “ _ You're _ amazing.”

“I love you, Lucretia.”

“I love you too.” She sighs. “But we still need to clean up and get across the base.”

“Or we could just stay all night in the Chug n Squeeze….” He strokes her back, and she almost could fall asleep. She takes a deep breath and pushes herself away from him. She stands, gripping his shoulder, leaning over to kiss his forehead. They touch foreheads silently for a long moment. 

Then he stands, and without a word they dress, they tidy up, constantly touching each other, finding ways to be close. 

She locks the door, and they walk across the dark and quiet quad hand in hand. 


End file.
